


Kink Night

by DragonBandit



Series: Kink Night [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Age Play, Body Worship, Crossdressing, Dom/sub, Fingerfucking, Humanstuck, Intercrural Sex, Intersex Character, M/M, Oral Sex, Piercings, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sex Club
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-02
Updated: 2014-11-02
Packaged: 2018-02-23 14:36:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2551166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonBandit/pseuds/DragonBandit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a club near Hal that does kink nights. The next on is ageplay, specifically the teenage years. He's intrigued, to say the least. </p><p>There is literally nothing about this that connects to the main comic except certain character relations.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kink Night

**Author's Note:**

> Brobot is referred to as Timaeus (Tim).  
> Auto-Responder is Hal.  
> Hal is intersex. 
> 
> I am sorry for my brain. This fic wouldn't leave me alone. Also this thing has so many headcanons in regards to, well, everything. I also probably can't write Porrim.

There's a club, which does kink nights. Every third Thursday of the month. The theme of this one piqued Hal's interest. There is an ad titled “Prom night.” on their page. The kink is ageplay. Specifically, the teenage years.

His own teenage years were lacklustre. With the one defining act of his romantic and sexual experiences buried in them somewhere. Hopefully to stay buried considering what a stupid idea it was.

The ad seems to be staring at him. Goading him with its tasteful graphic of a tie dropped on the floor along with a pair of panties and a copious amount of glitter. Perversely, it reminds Hal of his own prom night, and the disaster it was.

The theme shouldn't make him interested. But it does. He vaguely knows why. His mind trying to overwrite a previous experience with a better one. At the club, he'll understand what's going on. And not being led around by a manipulative, abusive boyfriend.

Hal understands why the theme has such an appeal.

He bites at his lip, and tabs out to something inane, still half thinking about it in the back of his mind.

He could do it. Pretend to be seventeen, barely legal again. Pretend to be innocent and wide eyed as someone older taught him how to touch himself, feel good inside. How to take a cock and please someone as much as they could please him.

He could overwrite the awful experience of his original first time. The one where he only doesn't count it as rape because he consented beforehand and then broke up with his not quite boyfriend immediately after.

The date’s perfect as well. Too perfect. Like someone planned this, not that Hal is quite that paranoid. It’s simply a coincidence. An incredibly tempting one.

All of it’s tempting. Too tempting. Fuck it. Hal goes back to the page and clicks the banner, finding out all the details for this event. Legal age, school uniform, don't blame the club for anything that happens inside. He can do that.

Except that Texas only has one version of school uniform: Catholic. He isn't interested in playing that sort of boy, it's out instantly. Which only leaves his own uniform, from the year he and Dirk had to live in Japan because Bro was filming with the masters over there and thoroughly butchering the art.

The uniform that he should probably be embarrassed that he still fits in it. Well, not exactly fits. The shirt goes on fine, as does the coat. The pants however, are proving to be difficult. His hips got wider since the last time he wore this. The button digs uncomfortably into his skin.

Hal would change them, but he doesn't exactly have plaid trousers outside of these and the black ones he usually wears suffered an accident while cooking at midnight. He's stuck with the tight ones.

No, that's a lie as well. Because somewhere at the back of Hal's closet is the _other_ uniform. The joke one that Dirk bought him because he's a dick. The top wouldn't fit; it barely did then and no way is Hal going to go that far with this. The bottom however...

The skirt fits snugly on his hips, but it doesn't dig in. Doesn't hurt like the trousers. It's the only thing he has.

(He didn't like girls. Maybe looking like one will help).

Hal stares at himself in the mirror. Wide red eyes staring back at him behind shades. Those will have to go, they shield his face and make him look too old. Though, Hal's face has always looked childish. Right now, hiding that feature with shades is detrimental to the look he's trying to create.

The rest is a mismash. The skirt isn't meant to go with the coat. The shirt is a little too tight and shows off more than it would have done if he really were seventeen. He's wearing sneakers as well. Not exactly the most attractive of footwear. It'll have to do though. He's not putting more effort than the minimum to get ready for this. If he does that makes it real. Makes him invested.

Hal isn't ready for that yet.

  
  


The night of the club, only three days later, Hal walks up to the bouncer and flashes his ID, skirt swishing around his legs. He still can't really believe that he's doing this.

The bouncer smirks, saying lightly that he hopes it isn't a forgery. Only real adults allowed in kiddo. Hal retorts that of course it's real. Sometimes he hates how young he looks.

Though, as soon as he walks down the stairs to the rest of the club, that fades out. Instead slipping into the character of his high school self. It's easy. He's always been a good actor.

The rest of him gets placed in a small box in his head, able to look out at the action, but not exactly have any control over the proceedings. It isn't needed right now.

The club is dim, they always are. The heady scent of sweat, sex and possibly an aphrodisiac fills his lungs the further he walks. Music also plays, a thumping bass pounding at his feet. Hal doesn't recognise the mix: good. This would be ruined if someone from Dirk's circle was DJing.

When he step into the club proper, he can see the dance floor, and the booths tucked into the walls. There's also a bar, and he gravitates towards it as a good place to get his bearings and look around.

The bartender banters with him when Hal asks for a beer. They playfully ask to see his ID and he pouts at them. They laugh, and Hal gains a coke and a hair ruffle for his antics before they spin away to fill another glass.

His gaze flies over booths, and the things in them with a curious eye. Most are just people talking, but sometimes Hal catches a glimpse of something less innocent. A hand working its way up a shirt, the movement of bodies in a rhythm that's difficult to mistake. He bites absently at his lip.

The dance floor is even worse. A tangle of bodies that, in the nature of all clubs, can only be called dancing by the virtue of moving to a beat.

That's where Hal will go, when he finishes his coke.

  
  


Porrim slides back into the booth with two glasses of the latest fruity cocktail, and aims a smirk at her companion. Kankri might have called him a victim, but Tim certainly hadn't complained when she'd proposed this venture to him. The joys of having kinky friends.

He's a better partner than Cronus as well, who would have fainted as soon as the two of them passed the couple a booth over. Tim however, had only glanced at the girl having her breasts well and truly marked up before looking away.

They're both wearing smart outfits. Could be uniform could be not. Neither of them are particularly interested in pretending to be younger, but Porrim likes taking the others kink into account when she does find the lucky person to amuse herself with tonight. She dressed Tim, it was the best way for everyone. No need to get turned down at the door for not wearing appropriate clothing after all.

He’s handsome but has the distressing tendency to wear clashing colours or simply monochromes. Porrim isn’t even sure the club has a dress code, she simply refuses to be seen with anyone who wears such terrible clothes. Especially here, where appearance is everything.

As such, he's wearing a dark fitted shirt and fitted pants. She tamed his hair as well. It sits carefully styled. More sex hair than just rolled out of bed. He has a light green tie carefully knotted around his neck.

Another advantage of Tim over Cronus (Or heavens forbid, Kankri) is he lets her fiddle with piercings and make up as well. The studs in his ears and eyebrow were carefully selected, as well as the careful, barely there application of silver to his eyes.

He could be a teacher, Porrim supposes, if an unorthodox one. Though she thinks he fits more as a student just let out for the day and ready to have some fun.

It doesn’t matter either way, Porrim doubts she’ll be around to see what role he’ll pick.

If he picks. Tim has a lot of specific things for partners. She's seen him sit in a booth like this for an entire night and never find anyone. A combination of being shy and having very picky tastes.  She intends to find someone for him though, no need for her to have all of the fun after all. She always feels guitly when they drive home and she’s discovered he spent the entire evening staring at a table.

With that in mind she looks at him, about to ask if he's seen anything he likes yet, expecting a no. She falters though, when she finds his gaze firmly fixed to the left of her head, in the direction of the dance floor.

Maybe she was wrong about the lack of finding. She tilts her head to look, trying to find whatever's grabbed his attention. It's hard to tell in the tangle of bodies. There are too many people, not enough stillness to get an idea if any of them fit Tim’s specifications. She finally gives up after half a minute and turns to lift an inquiring eyebrow at him.

“The little one. With the skirt.”

Porrim opens her mouth to retort that half of the club is wearing skirts, when Tim continues. “They've got white hair. Near the man with the neon tie.”

She turns, and spots them. God, no one should ever wear that shade of yellow with that shade of pink. She puts that out of her head as soon as she thinks it, focusing on the skirted figure horrible tie man has grinding against him.

Instantly she can see why they gained Tim's attention. They're small and lithe, all angles with just a hint of softness in their lines. Their mouth is slightly parted, pink lips shiny and catching the light to offer up a delicious promise.

It's the dancing though that makes Porrim smirk. The way they rock their hips back onto horrible tie man as they lose themselves to the music. The uncoordinated thrusting of a teenager, wrapped up in a school uniform that begs to be taken off piece by piece. It's good acting. And utterly delectable.

“Them?” She asks.

Tim nods out of the corner of her eye. “They're pretty.”

She hums in agreement, “You should talk to them.”

Tim fidgets slightly, in that way he does when he’s been asked to do something he doesn’t know how to, “I’m fine watching.”

“I’m not fine with you watching,” Porrim shoots back. She’s seen Tim ‘just watch’ far too many times. It’s frankly upsetting.

“They’re happy dancing.”

“You mean they’re happy getting themselves ramped up until someone takes pity on them and puts their hands up that far too short skirt.”

“Porrim.”

“No. I’m not letting you spend the entire night in this booth again.”

“What if I want to stay in the booth?”

“You don’t.”

Tim frowns. He’s got the hunted look in his eyes again. The one where Porrim knows she’s pushed him into a corner and he doesn’t know how to get out of it. She sighs heavily, and turns to watch the object of Tim’s desires practically fuck on the dancefloor.

They’re popular. Porrim can see as they dance their way into so many people’s arms. It’s only a matter of time before they get whisked away. She can’t believe Tim is just happy watching when he could go out and take.

He’d obviously be wanted. Frankly, anyone would be wanted as far as Porrim can see. It’s just a matter of getting there first. The other dancers are just playing now, seeing how much they can work the poor kid up. Sooner or later someone’s going to take it further.

“Yes or no question, do you want to have sex with them?”

“Um.”

“Tim. Yes or no.”

There’s a long pause. Porrim doesn’t mind. She has a little bit of time still left.

“Yes.”

Porrim nods, smiles and slides out of the booth. Tim starts.  She places a hand on his shoulder. It doesn't stop the look of confusion she's getting.

“Wait here,” she orders, and watches as Tim folds back, complicit in her plan. Obviously still worried, but trusting her judgement. “They obviously want someone to take care of them,” She soothes, “It might as well be you.”

Porrim spins away then, swaying to the beat as she lets herself get loose enough to dance. She has to move quickly. Tim did have to choose a pretty one.

  
  


Hal doesn't remember how long he's been dancing. So far the most anyone's done is press up against him and grind a little. It's nice though. No one's done this to him before and the hands that land on his hips are always more than welcome when they displace his rhythm into something different, something new and better.

He's not hard yet. But it wouldn't take very long for him to get there. He's starting to get an idea of who he wants to play with, but no one has really grabbed his attention. Especially not the ones on the floor right now. Half of them seem to be content in making the other dancers excited and then whirling away to another partner. It's frustrating.

He has half a mind to give up for now, grab another drink and seek his fun elsewhere, when a pair of hands folds themselves around his waist and he's tugged against someone's front.

Hal turns his head back, seeing dark hair and mischievous green eyes. His back feels full breasts, his hips long nails.

“Hello,” She says, voice low and resonant. Hal can't help his shiver. “You're out awfully late aren't you?”

Her hands skitter over his uniform jacket. She's playing the game, Hal realises. Putting in her own rules and twisting it around for her own goals.

“You aren't going to tell on me are you?” He asks, as she moves both of them to her own internal beat, not quite in line with the dance around them.

“I don't know...” She breathes into his ear, “You've been awfully naughty, sneaking out after curfew like this.”

“Are you going to punish me?”

She presses her nails into his hips, the ghost of a scratch. “Oh it's not me you have to worry about.”

Hal's about to ask her who he should worry about then, when she continues talking. He knows enough of how this goes to not interrupt.

“You're an awfully little thing, aren't you? How old are you?”

“Seventeen.”

He gets a laugh. “You're lying.”

“I'm not.”

“How long have you been seventeen then?”

“It's my birthday,” Hal says, because it is. And it was.

“Oh? Happy birthday then.” He's pulled into a slower, sensuous dance. He doesn't know what her game is, but he's captured already. He's sure he'll find it out soon. “Is that why you're out here? Going to get yourself a birthday treat?”

“Yes.” His voice is barely there

“mmm. Too bad the big bad prefect had to stop your fun before you could get it.”

“It seems she's helping me get fun,”

“Yes... She is.” Hal is twisted, out to the edges of the dance floor. “Open your eyes, Birthday--?”

“Boy,” Hal completes, opening his eyes. He tries to remember when he shut them. She's positioned them near the booths, only just still on the floor at all.

“Well birthday boy, I want you to look for someone, with silver hair and dark skin,” She murmurs. “Can you see him?”

Hal nods when he finds who she's talking about. He stares avidly at him, taking in his large frame and the way his shirt shows off toned muscles, not the mention the handsome, masculine face.

“Is he your boyfriend?” he asks, wondering if this is the game. Being between the two of them as a new way to spice up their sex life.

He's proven wrong though, when he gets a chuckle. “Oh dear no. He's just a friend.”

“He's watching you.”

“He's watching you.” She corrects, and makes him arch with a well-placed thumb to his back. “He thinks you're very pretty. Can you see him watching?”

Hal can. He saw the way his eyes shuttered closed when the woman behind Hal manipulated his form into something nearly pornographic. No, certainly pornographic. He's been hard since she breathed in his ear about being out too late.

“Is he going to keep watching?”

“He might. Would you like that? Him watching you stain your pretty uniform just from dancing?”

“This isn't dancing.”

“It's a type of dancing. If you're good maybe he'll teach you the rest of it.”

“He? Teach?”

“That's the plan.” She says, “He likes watching you but he'll like touching you more. He's shy. I have to talk for him or he never gets the fun he wants.”

“I'm the fun?”

“If you want to be. It'll be my present to you, birthday boy. You'd like him with his hands up your skirt wouldn't you?”

“I thought I was in trouble.” Hal says, his eyes firmly on the friend. “This doesn't seem like much of a punishment.”

She laughs again. “Oh you're in trouble all right. I'm just not the one who's punishing you.”

“Is he?”

“He might. It depends how bad you are.”

She makes him gasp again. A manicured nail brushing over his nipple through the thin fabric of his shirt. This time though, she digs her nail in a little, not enough to hurt but enough to promise the sensation of it later.

“What do you say? Want to play?”

Hal does. He doesn't say that though, wants to get more information first. Specifically one important piece of it. “And you? It seems you've neglected to include yourself in these plans.”

“That would be because I'm not in them. I'm merely here to talk to you.”

“You've done more than talk.”

“I have to get my fun from somewhere.” She brushes his nipple again. “And anyway, you both like it.”

They're barely dancing now. Only moving a little to the rhythm that's mostly them instead of the music.

“Yes.” Hal says. “I'll play.”

She hums happily. “Good boy.”

They disentangle from each other. Hal steps forwards, and then falters slightly. He looks up at her, something like a question waiting to be said but he doesn't know the exact words. She's smiling at him though, like she knew this would happen.

“It's okay,” She says softly. “He'll look after you. And I will until you get there.” With that, her hand slots into the small of his back, and Hal is led to the booth where the friend is still staring at the two of them.

She's right, Hal realises. Her friend is staring more at him, the woman barely gets little flicks of attention. He resists the urge to preen under the weight of that stare. Instead he bites his lip, and lets himself be led until he's practically sat on the man's lap.

The man looks up at the woman with an emotion that Hal can't exactly place. Something like acquiescence and slight confusion.

“Porrim.” he sighs.

“You thought he was pretty. And it's his birthday.”

He looks at Hal at that. Hal nods at the unspoken question. His hips are circled then, large hands resting gently where his bones jut out slightly. Hal doesn't resist the shudder. The man's eyes shutter.

“Anyway, you might as well have a help with the problem you gave yourself by watching.” Porrim continues.

Hal glances down. Sees the tent formed in the slacks the man’s wearing. He swallows, bites slightly at his bottom lip.

“You want me to...” The man trails off. Hal is starting to see what the woman, Porrim, meant when she said he was shy.

“Yes.” Hal says. “Please.”

He's pulled more into the man's lap. Until his legs are curled around the thicker one's he's straddled over.

“He's been naughty,” Porrim says, voice as sensuous as ever. “He snuck out to have some fun but he didn't expect to run into us.” She pauses, “Well, you. I'm going now, have fun.” She does leave then, a turn that makes her hips look like something out of a movie, and then she's gone.

Hal looks up at the Man again. Takes in dark skin and teal eyes blown with desire. He bites at his lip again. Ducks his head in shyness.

“Do you have a name?” The man asks, “Something I can call you?”

Hal hesitates for half a second. Weighing aliases and nicknames before settling on the truth. He doesn't have a need to hide here. Not from this person anyway. “Hal. You can call me Hal.”

“My names Tim.” The man says. He presses a thumb to the corner of Hal's mouth. “What game are you and Porrim playing?”

Hal blinks lazily as the thumb moves down, teasing at his chin and then resting at his collarbones. “You're a prefect. I'm in trouble.” He says, flicking his tongue out to wet at his lips. “Are you going to punish me?”

Tim tilts his head slightly. “Do you want me to? That's Porrim, what did you come here for?”

“I...” Hal falters. It goes against the rest of the script, not that he could have told Porrim that. And he liked the scene she painted. But now he's being asked his original plan raises its head.

“Tell me,” Tim orders softly, and it is an order. The way the words sound and roll through Hal's body.

“I want to feel good.” he says. The words tripping out of his mouth unbidden.

“How do you want to feel good?” Tim asks, rubbing a soothing circle into Hal's hip.

“Like....” He squirms a little. Knowing what he's going to say isn't exactly attractive. “I want to know what it's like.”

“It?”

“Sex.”

“Oh....” Tim says softly. “You haven't had it before.”

Hal shakes his head mutely. “Everyone else... says that it's nice. Better than being alone and... I wanted to find out and it's my birthday and I don't like anyone in my year but...”

“But?”

“I like you.” Hal says, voice barely there. “You're nice.”

Tim caresses his hip again. Hal melts into the touch. “I can do that. Make you feel good.” Tim says, “I can show you what it's like, since that's what you want. But you have to be good.”

“I can be good.”

“Then do you have a safeword? I don't want to do anything you'll hate.”

“Asimov.”

“Okay. Just say that and I'll stop.” The hand on Hal's collarbone slips to the side, toying with the first button in Hal's shirt. “And tell me if I do anything upsetting. Or need to slow down.”

Hal nods. “I can do that.”

Tim smiles. “You also said you can be good.”

“I can.”

“Prove it,” Tim says. “You've been bad so far, rubbing yourself on me without even asking.”

Hal blinks. Looks down and sees his hips rocking in tiny, barely there thrusts. “Oh.” He tries to still himself. Until the movement becomes slight frustration. Tim hums.

“Good boy.”

Hal bites his lip.

Tim makes quick work of Hal's shirt. Undoing the buttons until the fabric can be pushed aside with ease. He doesn't push the shirt and jacket off though, leaving it on Hal's shoulders and holding it open with his hands. One of either side of Hal's chest.

Hal moans when Tim brushes against his nipples. A thumb toying with each one.

“Sensitive.” Tim notes, and rubs the nubs until Hal is arching into him. He replaces one of his hands with his mouth. Hal starts at the wet heat, letting out another breathy moan.

“And loud.” Tim says, flicking at Hal with his tongue. “Cute.”

Hal isn't sure whether to find that insulting or not. He doesn't want to be cute, he wants to be seductive. The thought is hazy though, overwritten with pleasure the minute he thinks it. Tim continues to lick and Hal fights the urge to rock.

He's wet and hard. And he's sure that when he gets moved Tim's trousers are going to be slightly ruined. He should have thought of that before he sat down, but then he was too busy working out what was going to happen here.

Now, he's being overloaded. Filled up with sensations just from attention to his chest. He whines when Tim moves his hand away, only to gasp a moment later as it lands on his thigh. Just under the hem of the skirt.

“How do you feel?” Tim asks.

Hal tries to get the pieces of his mind back together enough to answer the question. “Hot.” he says.

“Good?”

He nods. “Yeah.” He's aware of the blush creeping across his face and down his neck. Tim kisses the edge of where Hal can feel the heat, murmuring about how cute he is.

The hand on Hal's thigh inches higher. Slow movements that tease Hal into making quiet noises. Tim kisses lower as well. Down Hal's neck and resting his mouth at the base of it.

“What else do you feel?” the words tease at Hal's skin.

“...Empty.”

Tim hums, “Explain?”

Hal's not sure he can. “Hollow?” He tries, splaying a hand across the skin below his belly button. “Want to be filled.”

Tim nips at his throat. “Yes?”

It's an order to carry on talking, and Hal does. “Feels like I'm missing things, like there's a hole inside me. A big one and it needs to be filled. Want. Want you to fill me.”

“Want me to make you feel good? With my fingers?” Tim says, he's teasing at the edges of the pants Hal's wearing. Over the lace edges of the soft material, and dipping lower to where they cover his nook.

Hal gasps. He can't stop his hips from moving to meet the touch. Tim nips him. “Be good.” He says, and Hal tries desperately to still himself again.

When he's managed it Tim licks gently at where he bit, sucking at the tender flesh. “Good boy.” His hand slips up again; rubbing gently at Hal. “Very good. Is this where you want me to fill?”

Hal shakes with the effort of holding himself still. His eyes are closed under the onslaught of sensation. “Yes. Please.” he says. Voice quivering.

The fingers still playing with his nipple gives him one last squeeze, milking a moan, before dropping to slide the pants down Hal's trembling thighs.

Tim teases. He touches lightly at Hal's skin with the fingers of both hands, tracing a path to his centre but circling around it. Over and over until Hal aches with need.

“Please.” He says. And then says it again when Tim only hums at him. “Please.”

He's not going to last much longer with this. Every time Tim gets close to him he has to force himself still. It's agonising. In the way where Hal teeters on the edge of a cliff and is so close to falling off he can feel the vertigo already.

He's been reduced to a trembling mess of whining and want and need and please Tim fuck please.

Tim hushes him. Murmuring softly about things Hal can't quite understand. He passes his fingers over Hal's dick. Hal moans at the soft touch, finally losing the battle to keep himself still. On his next thrust, Tim slips a finger inside of him.

Hal just about screams. Tim kisses him, muffling the noise but Hal can barely focus on the sensation of lips against his own. All of his attention is anchored on the feel of Tim's finger crooked inside him.

It's thick. Thicker than his own, it feels thicker than two of Hal’s digits combined. Tim moves, just enough to provide some sort of rhythm, as he moves his other hand to the small of Hal's back.

“You can move now.” He says.

Hal nods. Head jerking as he snaps his hips forward, burying Tim further inside him. Tim makes a soft sound. He presses upwards, matching Hal's rhythm and adding a second finger.

They rock together. Hal wrapping his arms around Tim's shoulders to have a ground. Some part of him that doesn't feel like he's on fire. Being burned up inside until something has to give. To break.

“Tim, gonna-” Hal says. Tim hums, and slows the pace of his fingers, until the movement is barely there.

Hal whines, rocking turning frantic before Tim orders “No.” The words go through him. Once again he stills his hips to the barest of movement. It's the best Hal can do. Even with the words sitting in his chest like stone. His eyes snap open.

“Why?” He says, and his voice feels wrecked.

Tim slides his fingers out, petting at Hal's cheek with his other hand. “Your first time shouldn't be here.” he says. Hal blinks. Trying to work out what the hell Tim's talking about. He looks around, getting his bearings again. Remembering that he's in a club where it's normal to find sex, kinky sex in various alcoves of the room.

“Where then?” Hal asks. He tries to hide the desperation in his voice, but he is sure he doesn't manage it.

He knows it, when Tim answers the desperation instead of his actual question. “Don't worry. I'm not leaving.”

Hal waits for him to continue talking, then realises that he won't. He's still hard. And dripping and frustrated. He squirms a little. Not trying to accomplish anything.

Tim gives him a look. Hal stops squirming.

He feels empty again. A giant hole gaping inside him that needs Tim to fill it back up, any way he can. He needs to be touched, brought to the edge again and be allowed to topple over it. He needs. “Tim please.”

“Shhh Hal.” Tim soothes. He reaches below Hal's skirt and rubs lightly at Hal's dick. It draws a whine out of him. “Don't worry, I'm going to look after you.”

Hal can only nod.

“Good boy.”

Tim picks Hal up gently. Placing him on his hip. Hal wraps his legs around Tim, as Tim rubs him against his side just a little. It's enough stimulation to keep Hal hard. Keep him wanting and needing and desperate. He hides his face in Tim's shoulder. Stifling his soft sounds in the suit jacket.

He doesn't pay much attention to where Tim's moving, more focused on the rhythm of Tim's movement against him. It's not enough. Not really. It doesn't soothe, instead ramping him up higher and higher until he's whining.

His eyes close, and he loses himself. Goes inside his head until Tim is the entire universe and what he's feeling is all he'll ever be able to feel. Heat coils at the bottom of his stomach. His rocking becomes more desperate, needs to get a release from this. Now. Please. Tim please. Please Tim. Please.

Tim pulls Hal flush into his side. No room to move at all. “Be good.” he says. Hal can only whine in disappointment.

“We're almost there. They have rooms here, I just need to get a key. You can be good till I get us there, right?”

Hal nods. His hair gets ruffled. He doesn't remember getting the key, or going into the room. The next thing that he remembers clearly is being set on the bed, Tim drawing away from him.

“Get undressed.”

Hal does, shaking fingers pushing off his shirt and jacket, bending to shuck off shoes and socks and pants. He takes the skirt off last. Hands bunching in the fabric before he slides it down his legs to be discarded on the floor.

He looks up at Tim, standing next to the bed and methodically taking off his own clothes. Hal itches to help but he doesn't think he can stand by himself. He's not sure he'd be allowed to either. Especially when Tim doesn't take off his trousers. Instead placing his shoes and socks neatly by the door.

Tim is even more attractive out of his clothes. He has tattoos running all over his body. Vines and flowers running from his torso to his chest to his back and lower. Hal drinks it in. He bites at his lip, noticing the studs of metal in Tim's nipples, a match to the other piercings on his body.

Tim looks over, notices Hal staring. He stretches languidly, throwing a smirk in the direction of the bed. Hal ducks his head, blush spreading across his cheeks again.

“Cute,” Tim murmurs.

Hal looks up, wide eyed. “Cute?” he asks.

Tim hums in agreement. Stalking forwards until he's standing over Hal. “Very cute.” He says.

“Why?”

Tim makes a low laughing sound. He cups Hal's face and smiles. Hal gets captured in his eyes. Teal rings around the dark pool of his pupil, blown wide with desire.

“You're very pretty. All red.” Tim says. “Especially here,” He kisses Hal's lips lightly. “And here,” he licks at Hal's nipples, “And here.” Tim says, kneeling between Hal's legs, and kissing the head of Hal's dick. “Cute.” He opens his mouth, and Hal gasps as warm heat engulfs him whole.

Hal moans. Rocking into the heat, and isn't stopped. He's encouraged even. Tim reaching out to hold one of his hands, and the other going to rest on the small of Hal's back. There, it guides Hal into a rhythm that feels good. Like eating chocolate, or stretching after a nap. Endorphins flooding through him and over him.

He doesn't last long. Barely has time to warn Tim that he's going to come. He's expecting Tim to draw back again. Maybe to tease or maybe so he doesn't get come in his mouth. But instead Tim sucks harder, urging Hal into a faster rhythm. Hal follows, then loses all sense of timing in desperation.

He comes, mouth opening in a gasping, high moan.

Tim licks at his over-sensitive skin, lapping gently until Hal pushes at him to stop it. He looks up at Hal. Smiling and a hint of smugness in the tilt of his head.

“Feel good?” He asks.

Hal, still caught in the floaty feeling of orgasm, nods. He opens his mouth, but doesn't quite manage words. Tim smirks, rubbing his cheek against Hal's thigh.

“Such a good boy,” he says.

Hal expects him to move away, back off. Maybe leave the room completely. He doesn't expect Tim to stay kneeling. To stroke at Hal's still trembling body with a kind of reverence Hal doesn't know how to deal with. Especially considering Tim was, is, a stranger to him.

Praise also keeps tripping off Tim's tongue. Calling Hal good and pretty and cute. Such a perfect pretty boy and isn't Tim lucky to be his first, get to teach him what sex is like and how nice it is. Get to be the first person to see him fall apart like that from someone else. Get to be the first person to make him feel so good and wasn't it nice to hear Hal make all those sounds like he couldn't help himself from them.

Tim also laps at Hal's inner thigh occasionally. Licking at the flesh almost absently. Hal feels wetness between his legs again.

“Gonna be hard if you keep doing that.” Hal warns. Because he doesn't know what Tim is doing right now. Whatever it is, Hal getting hard is apparently in those plots. He sees the way Tim's eyes are still blown wide, as he knows his own must be.

“Want me to take care of you again?”

“Do you want to?” Hal throws back. The haze is leeching away. Though the fog of arousal is close to overcoming Hal, he has a small part of lucidity left. A part of him that doesn't want to do whatever Tim says and assumes it's what the taller man wants. A part that wants to work out what's going on, and how this is going to work.

Tim seems to notice that. He stands up, sits next to Hal on the bed and pulls him into a hug. It's good. Grounding. And Tim keeps his hands to himself. Barely stroking Hal at all.

“You're very sensitive.” He says. “I'd like to see how many times I can make you come before you beg me to stop.”

Hal shudders. Tim strokes his hair.

“It's okay if you say no. I won't be mad. You got what you wanted. I just want to give you more. If you want me to.”

“It looks like I wouldn't be adverse to that.” Hal says slowly. “But what about you?”

“Me?”

“You didn't get anything out of earlier. You just got me off and more you never...” Hal trails off. Not sure how to put what he's trying to say into actual words.

“Never came?”

Hal nods. “I know you're hard... were hard.” He corrects, because he's not sure anymore. The time he spent straddled on Tim's lap seems a very far away point in time now.

“Still am.” Tim says.

“Oh.” Hal says. His mind blanks out slightly. Thinks of Tim and his dick and feels the coil of heat in his belly grow stronger. “Do you want help with that?” he asks.

“Hmm?”

“Do you want help?” Hal repeats. He blushes, looking down. And then down again at the tenting in Tim's trousers. He's surprised he was ever able to think it was gone.

“Do you want to help me?” Tim asks, soft and melodic.

Hal swallows. Bites at his lip. “Yeah. I want to.”

Tim runs his hand through Hal's hair. “Be a good boy and take these off me then?”

A shiver runs through Hal, lust dropping him into a heady place again. He reaches out. Undoing Tim's belt and then undoing his fly. Tim helps him get them off, pulling at the fabric until they rest with Hal's skirt on the floor.

Hal stares. And then squirms as his nook makes itself known again.

Tim is big. Porn big. Impossibly big. He wonders what it would feel like inside him. Stretching him. Filling him up and not leaving room for anything else.

“Oh.” Hal says, and flushes as he realises how stupid it sounds.

“What are you thinking?” It isn't a query Hal can deflect.

“Want you in me.” Hal answers.

Tim shifts uncomfortably. “You're very little.” he says, “You've never had anything. I would hurt.”

“Don't care.”

“I do.” That makes Hal look up. Stare into teal. At Tim's face that looks worried, upset at the edges of aroused. “I don't want to hurt you, Hal.”

The sincerity in that makes Hal squirm, and then gasp as he accidentally stimulates himself. Tim smiles, petting at Hal's hair, and down his back. Hal arches.

“So sensitive...” Tim muses.

“Feel empty.” Hal complains. He has a feeling he's pouting. Doesn't know how to stop.

“I know... I can't put my dick in you. It would hurt too much.”

Hal drops his gaze. He agrees. He can't not considering how big Tim is. How little Hal is. He hasn't been stretched out enough to take something like that. Doesn't matter how much he wants, it's only good for a fantasy.

He flushes as he realises he’s watching Tim stroke himself absently. Lazy motions up and down himself. Hal reaches out. Hesitating slightly before wrapping his fingers around the thickness. Compared to Tim's hand, Hal's is tiny. Barely there at all.

Tim arches slightly into the touch regardless. Hal adjusts his grip, tightening up and then starts moving his hand. Matching the slow rhythm Tim was using before.

“Good boy. Just like that...” Tim says, voice edging into a moan. What Hal's doing can't be anything more than teasing with that pace. He thinks about how long Tim's been hard, and shudders at the amount of stamina he must have.

His fingers keep catching at something. Something that needs to be investigated. Hal looks, finds the nub of metal set in Tim's dick. He feels it, runs his thumb around it. It's warm and hard. Smooth to the touch. Tim gasps.

“Want you to fuck me.” Hal says, squirming. The words slipping out without consulting his head first. He squirms again, rubbing himself into the bedsheets. It's not enough. He needs. Something. Tim. He needs Tim.

Tim who finds the nape of Hal's neck and squeezes. Hal moans, loud and needy. “Please.” he begs.

“I can't.” Tim says. “Not with this,” He covers the hand Hal has on his dick. “And not here.” he reaches to press the tips of his fingers to Hal's nook. Just pressing in enough that Hal can feel it.

Hal whines. Rubbing against the fingers and wishing they were in him. Wishing they were Tim's dick. He only gets the barest amount of stimulation, and then Tim moves them back, placing his hand on Hal's inner thigh.

“Here though. I can fuck here.” It's better than nothing. Hal nods. Pleads with Tim with huge eyes. “You want that?”

“I do. Please. Fuck. What do I need to do?”

“Get on your stomach, thighs together.” Tim orders. Hal moves as fast as he can. Giving Tim's dick one final squeeze before he disentangles completely.

Tim settles behind him, Hal can't tell where he is exactly, just knows his knees are bracketing Hal's own. He looks behind him. Sees silver hair and a reverent expression. Tim raises Hal’s hips, pressing his legs together.

He doesn't tease that much this time, thank god, Hal thinks. He's so close to the edge already. Doesn't need the extra torture. All Tim does is slide his hand all the way down Hal's spine, and then pushes himself into the warm space between Hal's thighs.

He moves, slowly and then speeding up in increments, getting rougher with every thrust. He's quiet. Hal barely hears more than sighs and gasps and whispered praise. Almost buried by Hal's own sounds of pleasure.

It's overwhelming. Tim's high up enough that he's rubbing against Hal's nook and the head of his dick just brushes against the bedsheets with every thrust. Tim's piercing doesn't help. Teasing at Hal to the point it's agonising.

He gets to the cliff. Can feel the drop. Tim leans forwards, pressing his lips to the nape of Hal's neck and bites. Sucks and Hal falls. Climaxes with a moan and rides through it, pressing his legs tight together.

Tim doesn't stop thrusting. Hal doesn't do anything to stop him. Because it still feels good. Coming down from the rush and Tim's there. Solid at his back and between his legs and teasing at over-sensitive flesh.

The piercing is the worst, best thing right now. It's pressed up against Hal's nook and every time Tim thrusts, it teases more. Like this time is when it's going to slip in, fill Hal up and fuck him raw.

Tim's reduced to low moaning. No words, barely sounds. He's going to come soon, Hal can feel it. But not soon enough because his piercing. His piercing keeps Hal's nook awake and interested and wanting.

It hurts. Too much sensation and Hal doesn't know if he wants it to stop or continue forever. He hides his face. Tries to be good. Wants to be good for Tim, as good as he possibly can be. He's pleading. Pleading for Tim to come, to fuck him to keep moving please Tim please. Please.

Tim comes. Uncoiling like a spring and stilling. The insides of Hal's thighs are messy, messier now with Tim's come mixing with Hal's slick.

For a moment, both of them are completely still. Tim coming down from orgasm, Hal floating on desperation and want. Soon though, Tim slides his body sideways, lying next to Hal on the bed.

Hal looks at him. Takes in Tim's face. The way he looks sated and content and peaceful now. Hal is 99% certain his own face looks nothing like that.

He's proven when Tim reaches out to cup his cheek. “You're crying.”

Hal blinks. He reaches up himself to feel the wetness clinging to his face. “Sorry.” He says.

“It's okay.” Tim says, he gently wipes the tears away. “I didn't do anything did I?”

“No.” If there's one thing Hal's certain of it's that. “It. It was good I'm just...”

“Sensitive?” Tim completes.

Hal nods. Embarrassed at his reactions.

Tim however, smiles gently. “Greedy boy.” he teases, ruffling Hal's hair. “I felt you come and you want to again now.”

Hal nods again. “Please?” He asks.

Tim's hand reaches down to cup the nape of Hal's neck. “What do you want?”

“Want you to fill me.” Hal says in a rush. “Please. Need you. Something in me.”

Tim rubs what are probably meant to be comforting circles into Hal's neck. Hal lets out a soft whine, squirming as his body once again demands to be sated.

“Be good.” Tim orders. Hal tries to still himself. “Good boy.”

Hal pouts. Makes his eyes wide. Staying still is hard when all of his nerves feel like they're on fire.

“I wish I'd brought toys,” Tim says, “A vibrator for you to fuck yourself on. At least a dick you could take. If you want I could get you something. But I'd have to leave you in here by yourself.”

Hal shakes his head frantically. “Don't leave me alone.”

“Okay.” Tim soothes, “I won't leave. That means you'll have to be content with my mouth or fingers.”

“It seems that's fine.” Hal says, “I just. Need something.”

“Which do you want then?”

Hal's mind skips in indecision. “Fingers.” he says. Because he thinks of it first.

“Where?” Tim asks.

Hal blanks out for a second. “Same place as before?”

Tim nods, pushing a hand between Hal's legs. Hal gasps. Tim rubs upwards, stroking at the edges of Hal's nook.

“Can you move?” he asks, “Would you be able to sit on my fingers and take what you need?”

Hal isn't sure. His nerves are all over the place. Stretched to breaking point and beyond. Slowly, he shakes his head.

Tim hums. “All tired out?”

Hal doesn't say anything, doesn't have anything to say. Either way he can answer feels like a lie. Tim doesn't seem to care though. He keeps petting upwards, until he manages to coax Hal into rocking onto them.

“So greedy,” Tim says, “All tired out and still wanting more.”

He moves them, pushes at the small of Hal's back until he's sitting up and propped against the headboard. Tim settles between his spread legs, stroking at the skin of Hal's thighs with the hand not teasing at Hal's core.

“You’re a mess,” Tim says, dragging his finger through the sticky wetness of Tim’s come and Hal’s slick. Hal feels him clean it all off, and then set his head next to Hal’s knee.

“Pretty boy,” Tim murmurs, “So good for me. All wet and hot inside.” he pushes his fingers in. first two, then a third when Hal whines for more.

“Greedy too.” Tim says. His fingers thrust in and out of Hal slowly. Torturously. A smooth tide of being full all the way and then almost completely empty. Hal tries to rock against them, make it faster. The position he's been placed in makes it almost impossible though. He's reduced to whining, and trying not to die at the too slow movement.

“Such a greedy boy, wanting more. Should I give it to you? Hmm? Have you been a good boy, Hal?”

Tim ups the pace by an increment and Hal moans. “Been good,” he says through it. “Been good for you. Please. Please Tim, please.”

Hal screams as Tim jerks roughly into him. His hands curl into the bedsheets. He rocks. Matching the brutal pace Tim's finally, finally giving him.

Tim’s saying something, Hal can’t exactly hear the words. Just the tone. The soft, gentle tone like Hal’s the best thing to watch in the entire world.

He’s close. So close. Part of him wants to stay here, in this hazy place. The rest of him shakes and shudders and can’t wait for what comes next, keeps trying to push him towards it.

It feels so good. The best thing he’s had and he’s ruined for sex forever now. Nothing will ever be as good as this, not ever. And Hal doesn’t care. Doesn’t care that he’s going to be comparing whatever sex he has after this with Tim. That it’s never going to match up. This. Being here, with Tim between his legs and looking up at him--

“Come for me, Hal.” Tim says.

Hal does.

Tim fucks him through it. Slowing his movements until finally he pulls out completely.

He sits up, reaching to touch at Hal’s shoulders and stroking him gently.

“Done now?” he asks.

Hal nods. He feels run out. Stretched thin and sated. Tim smiles, petting at his hair. The motion is nice, Hal leans into it and sighs happily.

“Good boy.” Tim says. He wraps Hal in a hug, shifting so Hal is on his lap, back to Tim’s chest. “You were so good for me. Thank you.”

“Why are you thanking me?” Hal slurs. He feels sleepy now. Content to sit in Tim’s lap and float.

“For letting me do that to you.”

“Wanted you to.” Hal protests, “Don’t need to be thanked.”

“And I want to thank you.” Tim says. An edge of the voice that Hal can’t help but listen to tinting the words.

 "You're welcome," Hal says. It’s automatic. He doesn't know what to say. He’s stuck with polite rituals that don’t mean anything.

Tim doesn’t seem to mind though. He pets at Hals hair and smiles softly.

"Do you want anything?" Tim asks. "Drink? Clothes?"

Hal shakes his head slowly. "Sleepy." He Says.

"I'm not surprised. You're dropping now.”

"Dropping?"

"Mmm." Tim rubs at Hal’s shoulders. "You're coming down from the high. Lots of people get hungry or sleepy or cold after it. You’ve never done this before?”

The fact that it’s a genuine question throws Hal for a second. He starts to reply, that of course it’s the first time it’s happened to him when he realises that he’s been lying this entire time. He slipped a role over his head and wore it so well he forgot there was another face under the mask.

But Tim knew. Tim knew the entire time that Hal was pretending and let him. Joined in the game to the extent that they’re in an actual bed together, instead of out in the main area.

“No,” Hal says. Because it’s the truth. At least a form of it. “It seems I haven’t.”

“Ok. Tell me if you need anything?”

“I will.”

Hal continues to float. Tim’s hand on his back is warm, nice and solid. He’s going to miss this. When he inevitably has to leave. Maybe Tim will be here another time. If Hal ever goes here again. He hasn’t decided yet. He isn’t sure he can decide while still in Tim’s arms.

Slowly, slowly, he comes down. He starts shivering first, and Tim pulls the bedsheets around both of them. They’re probably not the cleanest thing in the world, but Hal doesn’t care. He needs to shower anyway.

He keeps expecting Tim to leave. He had his fun, he doesn’t have to deal with whatever it is that’s keeping Hal here. Keeping him from getting up, smiling at Tim and walking out of his life forever. His head feels foggy.

“Are you planning to stay here? At the club?” Tim asks.

Hal hums at him, mulling over the question until he works out how to reply. “I got what I wanted,” he says finally. “It seems I don’t have much reason to stay here now.”

“How were you planning on getting home?”

“Taxi?” It shouldn’t be a question, Hal doesn’t know why he tilts the word up at the end to turn it into one.

Tim does though, judging by the way he swears softly. “I’d feel better if I could drive you.” he says.

Hal blinks, tilting his head in confusion, “Why?”

“Because you’re still very deep in your head and I don’t want to leave you alone with a stranger.”

“You are a stranger,” Hal points out.

Tim goes still. The hand still rubbing slow circles into Hal’s back falls onto the bed. Hal looks up, tilting his head.

“Tim?”

He doesn’t get a response. Hal tries again. Tim doesn’t meet his confused gaze. He’s staring at the bedsheets. Hal is close enough to see the hint of a blush under the dark skin.

“What’s wrong?” Hal asks.

“Nothing.”

“You’re lying.”

“No,” Tim denies. “I just-- forgot.”

“Oh.”

Hal can’t blame him. Tim doesn’t feel like a stranger. He’s too comfortable to be that. He’s something else. Not exactly a friend, or any other category Hal has for people he likes. But he’s not an enemy, or someone that doesn’t need a category simply because Hal doesn’t register their existence at all.

He’s Tim. That’s about as far as Hal can get before things stop being able to fit.

“You can drive me home.” He says.

Tim looks at him then, incredulous. “Really?”

“Yes.”

“You aren’t just saying that?”

Hal shrugs. “It seems you’d be cheaper than paying for a taxi anyway.”

Tim smiles. He shifts Hal closer slightly. “I’ll drive you home then.”

“Thanks.”

Neither of them move out of the hug.

Later, Tim gathers up clothes as Hal works out how little he can get away with. Wearing clothes right now is not ideal. He feels sticky. Covered in sweat. He doesn’t want to have to put clothes that are just as bad on his frame.

The skirt he has no choice about. It’s November, so he resigns himself to wearing both the shirt and coat. He needs the coat anyway; it has his keys and phone and wallet in it.

However, he balks at the panties.  He doesn't want to wear the mess that the cotton triangles are pretending not to be. He can go commando. It’s not like Tim will do anything. Hal thinks. Hal hopes.

The rest of the journey is blurred. At some point he got out of the room, through the club, and into Tim’s car. And then directed to his apartment, walked up the stairs (The elevator is permanently broken) and got into his bed.

He sleeps.

In the morning, the whole thing is nothing but a memory. A nice one. But one unlikely to happen again, unless Hal decides to go back to the club. He hasn’t decided yet. Maybe he will.

If Tim is likely to be there again, maybe he will.

 

 


End file.
